Chapter 250: Taking Flight
Giselle kept hold of Elias’s hand as she led him through the private connecting corridor from The Pinnacle Club into the adjoining hotel.
The passage had been built for guests who wanted privacy. No crowds, no curious faces, no need to cross the public lobby after midnight. Soft lights reflected off polished stone, and the carpet muffled their footsteps. Elias let Giselle pull him along without resistance, even though she still had not said much since they left Sloane’s suite.
Their hands remained linked.
When they reached the presidential suite, Elias paused at the door.
It was the same room they had used before.
For a moment, he looked around at the clean, expensive space and felt the absurdity of it settle in. He had not expected to end up here with Giselle again. Not in this room. Not after all the routes and disasters that had happened since the last time.
[System Theta: Why is that surprising?]
Elias closed the door behind them. "I assumed I would eventually use this place with somebody other than Giselle."
[System Theta: ...]
So that was the point.
Elias had expected a different woman. Not a different room.
After the observation, the suite went quiet again.
Giselle was still holding his hand, but she had not released it, and she had not tried to explain why. Elias glanced down at their joined fingers, then back up at her. She stood with her pale face composed, silver hair still loose from the fight, as if she had no idea how to handle a relationship that included holding hands, embracing, and kissing someone she called her Bestie.
That made sense.
Before him, Giselle had not had anyone like this in her life. A close female friend had been difficult enough for her. A male best friend who had been in her arms, kissed her, and stood beside her now with their fingers locked together was a category she clearly had not prepared for.
Elias decided to help.
There was something almost funny about it. Giselle could drag Naomi into a fight without blinking, chase him through the grounds in the middle of the night, and kiss him when panic finally broke her restraint. Yet once the danger passed, she seemed to lose every line she might have said afterward.
Elias did not mind guiding her.
She had done well tonight. She had followed him out, listened when he told her to stop, and chosen to bring him here instead of letting Sloane turn the entire situation into another group discussion. That deserved a little help.
"Giselle," he said. "Let me see."
She turned her head.
His free hand rose to her face. His palm settled carefully against her cheek, and Giselle went still. There was no alarm in her expression, only a small pause as she looked into his eyes.
Worry filled them.
"You fought again," Elias murmured. "And you got hurt this badly."
His thumb moved with growing care along the bruised skin near her mouth. He bit his lower lip as if looking at the injury hurt him too.
Warmth gathered in Giselle’s chest.
She gave a faint smile. "Again? Where did that come from?"
Elias looked at her without answering.
The silence told her enough.
The last person who had hurt him.
Serena.
Elias did not want to speak about her. Giselle understood that much. She did not push. The topic disappeared between them without either of them naming it.
"Does it hurt?" he asked.
"No."
The word came easily.
Then Elias’s finger brushed the split at the edge of her lip.
Giselle’s brows tightened before she could hide the reaction.
Elias pulled his hand back just enough to give her a look. "That doesn’t hurt?"
She did not argue.
He let go of her hand only to search for the hotel’s medical kit. Giselle watched him cross to the cabinet near the wet bar, retrieve it, and return. When he faced her again, his voice carried a small, firm command.
"Come here. Sit down."
Giselle disliked that tone from almost everyone else.
Victoria Frost had used it all her life. Sit. Wait. Do this. Do not question that. Around her mother, Giselle often felt less like a daughter than an asset being instructed where to stand.
Yet from Elias, the order did not bring irritation.
She sat.
The obedience came so naturally that it made Elias’s mouth curve.
Giselle seemed to notice the expression and gave him a brief, questioning look, but she did not ask why he was smiling. She simply stayed where he placed her, hands resting quietly in her lap while he opened the kit. For someone who normally carried herself with such cool, flawless control, the trust was unexpectedly easy to see.
Elias stood in front of her on the sofa, at exactly the right height to tend to her face. He opened antiseptic wipes, poured a little solution onto a cotton pad, and started cleaning the cut at the corner of her mouth.
His movements were careful, almost too careful.
"Tell me if it hurts."
Giselle shook her head. "I’m not that fragile. You can press a little harder."
"Hm."
The sound was faintly displeased.
Elias remained gentle anyway.
The cotton moved across her cheek in small, patient strokes. The quiet could have stayed comfortable, but then Elias asked, "Is there something you want to ask me?"
Giselle looked up.
Elias met her gaze without flinching.
He knew exactly what he was offering. The question she had avoided. The person from that night. The event he had made sound so terrible that it drove Giselle into a fight with Naomi and left her unable to look at him.
This was the best chance to ask.
He had brought it up himself. It would not be an ambush. It would not force him to remember without warning.
Still, Giselle did not want to know.
Not because the past could be changed. It could not.
She did not ask because any answer would make Elias return to it. He would have to say the words again. He would have to remember the day Serena had thrown him out, the woman he had said he slept with, and every feeling he had displayed in the garage.
Giselle could not bring herself to demand that from him.
So she remained silent.
It was not a refusal. It was the opposite. Giselle was giving him the choice to speak or never speak about it again. She had spent the night trying to extract the truth from Naomi, then came face to face with the only person who could actually answer her. In the end, she chose not to demand anything.
Elias understood.
He saw it in the way her blue eyes softened, in the question she chose not to ask. His own expression gentled. He set the cotton pad aside, moved to the sofa, and lay sideways against her.
Giselle adjusted immediately.
She shifted so he could rest more comfortably, one arm supporting him without hesitation. He fit against her as if the place had been left open for him.
Neither of them spoke.
Their actions said enough.
Elias had taken care of her injuries. Giselle had declined to reopen his. They sat quietly in the presidential suite, each taking the other’s concern as something natural, something that did not need a name beyond Besties.
The silence lasted.
Elias’s eyelids grew heavy. His body warmed against Giselle’s, and sleep began to pull him down.
Then Giselle spoke.
"Do you want to go somewhere?"
Elias’s attention sharpened at once.
He kept the tired look on his face. "Where?"
Giselle paused, almost teasing him with the answer.
Elias saw it in her eyes anyway.
Travel.
A break from the city.
"But we have class," he said.
"We’ll take leave."
"Our advisor might refuse."
"I’ll handle it."
Elias nearly smiled.
Giselle Frost had just offered to use her own influence to clear the problem away. He loved that kind of Bestie behavior.
When a Frost heiress wanted to travel, Elias did not need to plan an itinerary, book a room, or worry about luggage. He only had to arrive. Giselle would arrange the flights, the cars, the hotel, the staff, and every inconvenience that could exist between him and having a good time.
Three days later, she led him onto a private jet.
The cabin was extravagant without trying too hard. Cream leather seats, dark wood panels, warm lighting, a small dining area, a lounge space, and windows wide enough to make the runway look like a strip of silver under the morning sun. Elias stepped inside and looked around before glancing at Giselle.
So much for small capital.
"Sit."
Giselle bent beside him and fastened his seat belt herself, checking the clasp with the same seriousness she had used while treating him like he might break outside the suite.
Then she started to straighten.
The gesture was so matter-of-fact that it could have been sweet, if Elias had not immediately begun looking for a way to keep her beside him. The flight would be long enough for conversation, silence, sleep, and a dozen other possibilities. Sitting across from him was an unreasonable waste of all of them.
Elias caught her wrist.
His green eyes looked damp and wide behind his glasses. "Where are you going?"
Giselle smiled despite herself and brushed his hair back with one hand. "Across from you."
That would not do.
A private jet was an excellent setting. Quiet. Isolated. No staff hovering close enough to interfere. Elias had no desire to waste an opportunity like that.
So after Giselle moved to the seat opposite him, he let his expression change.
It was subtle at first. He pressed his lips together. The color left his face. His shoulders stiffened beneath the belt.
He said nothing.
He waited for Giselle to notice.
It did not take long.
"Are you afraid of flying?" she asked.
Elias looked at her, then nodded several times.
The small movement brought a trace of helplessness to his eyes.
Giselle had been about to tell him the aircraft was safe. It was maintained, inspected, staffed by professionals, and flying a route she trusted.
Then she looked at him again.
Her heart softened.
She unfastened her seat belt, crossed the cabin, and sat beside him.
She took his hand in both of hers. Then she laced their fingers together, holding on firmly enough that there was no space between their palms.
"Don’t be scared," Giselle said. "I’m here."